


silk at your fingertips

by wintersrose616



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Light Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:08:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28845087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersrose616/pseuds/wintersrose616
Summary: Sylvain is not a selfish lover. He spends their time together always catering to Dimitri. Even though Dimitri’s aware Sylvainenjoysit, there has never been a time he’s prioritized his own pleasure over Dimitri’s.Dimitri knows precisely what he wants. He wants to make Sylvain feel as good as Sylvain always makes sure Dimitri does. He wants to be able to take his time, pick away at the walls Sylvain builds without giving Sylvain a chance to leap to take care of Dimitri first.HewantsSylvain to be selfish. He knows Sylvain won’t let himself be..Dimitri’s quite certain that when Claude sent him the silk sash, he didn’t intend for it to be used to tie Sylvain to the bed.Ah, well. It’s not like Claude is a stranger to keeping secrets of his own.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 17
Kudos: 98





	silk at your fingertips

There’s already a fire roaring in the hearth as they slip inside the room. The King’s bedchambers had been prepared for their early retirement of the evening, despite the fact that up until Sylvain had taken his hand and tugged him away, Dimitri had no idea they’d be leaving dinner early.

They’ve barely parted from each other since slipping out of the dining hall, their fingers entwined as they stole away down the corridors at a run unbefitting either of their statues, their laughter melding together in kisses.

Sylvain’s kissing him _now_ , too, as if he’s a man starved, his hands warm even through the layers of clothing Dimitri’s wearing. He’s crowded Dimitri back against the door, hands settling above his hips, broad and snug in the dip of his waist. His tongue and teeth make tracks on Dimitri’s skin before they’ve even been able to latch the door behind them.

It feels like it’s been an eternity since they last had time to do more than kiss before falling asleep. Between their combined duties, their days were both normally so long that Dimitri considered himself lucky if he was able to fall asleep with Sylvain in his arms instead of slipping into their chambers hours after Sylvain had gone to bed.

The closest they’ve come to being awake and by themselves was when Dimitri had carved out time for them to spar—but the castle’s training grounds were not an easy place for the King and Margrave to find privacy in.

Felix is never going to forgive them for him walking in expecting to find them keeping up on training, and instead found Sylvain on his knees in front of Dimitri.

“Ah— _Syl_ —”

Sylvain hums, his tongue swiping along the bite mark he’s left just above the collar of his coat. Dimitri’s own hands move over Sylvain’s body, smoothing up his chest to settle only for a moment before moving on again. He’s excited already, desperate to be able to _enjoy_ their night together, already feeling flushed and warm.

“Eager, hm?” Sylvain questions, teeth tugging lightly on his ear lobe before his breath ghosts across his ear, sending a shiver down Dimitri’s spine. “I’ll take care of you.”

The promise is husky, full of lust and love in equal parts. The words combined with his tone have Dimitri’s knees buckling, have him following Sylvain’s lead for whatever he planned for the night ahead.

He follows Sylvain’s lead now, as he pulls them further into the bedchambers, hands starting to roam from their place at Dimitri’s waist. He starts to divest him of all the finery Dimitri’s been dressed in all day, starting with the fine, silk sash about his waist.

Normally— _normally_ —Dimitri is happy to be led. Happy to let Sylvain do as he wishes, knowing both will end the night sated and satisfied. Sylvain’s never disappointed him, never led Dimitri down a path he didn’t like, but tonight—tonight, that’s not what he wants.

No, that’s not what he wants at all.

Except he can’t find the words to explain what he wants to Sylvain, unsure entirely what it _is_ that he wants.

Sylvain’s nimble fingers have gotten his shirt off by the time Dimitri stops trying to find coherent words, from the jumbled mess they are in his head. Dimitri helps him out of his own shirt, smiling as Sylvain hastens to fold them both loosely and toss them on a chair before he’s back in his arms. He doesn’t let Sylvain get to the laces on his pants, tugging him close so they’re chest to chest.

Sylvain hums once more, happy, as Dimitri drags his hands from his waist down to his rear, squeezing once against firm muscle before they drop to the tops of his thighs. Dimitri swallows the gasp Sylvain lets out when he hoists him up, following the kiss with nips along his jaw as he carries him to the bed.

Dimitri sets him on the bed gently, following him down to smear a trail of kisses down his neck as he kneels down in front of him. One of Sylvain’s hands settles on the bed, the other in Dimitri’s hair, undoing the tie to his eyepatch as Dimitri works on freeing him from his boots. Sylvain’s socks go next before he’s pushing himself back up, lips seeking Sylvain’s. He hears the soft, rustling _thump_ of his eyepatch hitting the floor as Sylvain’s hands move to steady himself with his palms pressed to his shoulders, warmth radiating off his skin.

Sylvain’s smiling when Dimitri pulls away, going just far enough to rest his forehead against his.

“Hi,” he breathes.

Dimitri chuckles. “Hi. Sit back against the pillows for me?”

“Ooh, as His Majesty commands.”

The light tease makes Dimitri’s eye roll in exasperation, but he says nothing as Sylvain moves higher up the bed. He goes to rid himself of his boots as Sylvain goes to their bedside table, rummaging in the drawer for their bottle of oil.

By the time he’s sitting back against the pillows, Dimitri’s stripped himself down to his underclothes. Sylvain’s eyes darken, black bleeding across warm brown as his eyes roam over Dimitri.

He lifts an eyebrow as Dimtiri crawls up the bed to him, his foot brushing against the silken stash Sylvain had tossed on the bed in his quest to strip him. Dimitri ignores it as he straddles Sylvain’s lap, eye lighting on the smug smile Sylvain gives him as his hands find their home once again at his waist.

“My pants have to stay on?” he asks.

“Yes,” Dimitri answers. “For now.”

Both of Sylvain’s eyebrows raise, his head tilting. Hair falls over his eyes, stray strands of red that Dimitri brushes away, following the path his fingers take with his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. Sylvain hums a questioning noise.

“Do you have a plan for what you want?”

Dimitri considers for a moment. The answer isn’t _yes_ , but it isn’t completely _no_. He knows vaguely what he wants. It’s the execution of it that’s starting to trouble him.

“Dimitri?”

Sylvain’s lips brush along his neck, teeth dragging a path down towards his collarbone.

_That won’t do._

Dimitri sits back, pulling his head away from Sylvain’s lips. Sylvain straightens, brow starting to furrow as he looks up at him. Dimitri’s not sure what face he’s making right now—knows his brows are knit together in thought. Whatever it is, it’s enough to have concern start to leech into Sylvain’s expression.

_That won’t do, either._

His hands slip down to Sylvain’s wrists, pulling him away from his waist. Sylvain blinks down at the movement, starting to frown, but Dimitri’s thoughts lay elsewhere.

The sash was a gift, one sent with flourish and fanfare along with a multitude of other Almyran goodies from their dear friend, who just so happened to be the King of Almyra. Sylvain had picked it out that morning when they were getting dressed, tying it about Dimitri’s waist with the utmost care, all but smothering Dimitri in compliments on how he looked. It’s a beautiful thing, dyed a rich, Blaiddyd blue. The embroidery alongs its edges intricate and delicately stitched. He had worn it through the duration of negotiations they sat through in the early afternoon, the ends long enough that Dimitri was able to fidget with without too much notice as they sat at the table.

Long enough to loop through the headboard with ample space to tie things.

He collects both of Sylvain’s wrists into one hand, watching his expression. Sylvain blinks, a flash of surprise crossing his face, quickly replaced by curiosity, and his lips part, no doubt to ask Dimitri what he’s doing, but Dimitri doesn’t let him.

“Stay still,” he orders, softly.

Dimitri feels a rush of excitement, quickly followed by absolute terror that he’s wrong in his thoughts that Sylvain may enjoy this, too. But as soon as the order leaves his tongue, Sylvain’s eyes go wide and dark, the curiosity still there, simmering underneath obvious desire. Dimitri’s careful, cautious, as he reaches behind them, fingers brushing against the silk they discarded as he stretches Sylvain’s hands over his head.

He hasn’t felt this nervous in their bed since their first time, back when Sylvain had taken extra care to take him apart in the best ways, always checking to make sure Dimitri was enjoying himself.

As Dimitri starts to carefully bind his wrists to the headboard, Sylvain starts to fidget. There’s no sense of urgency in the slight shifting, no sense of Sylvain not _wanting_ this. They hadn’t discussed it beforehand, but—

“Be good and do as you’re told, Sylvain.”

The order falls on a trembling exhale, Dimitri’s attempt at using his _royal voice_ falling flat. Despite the wobbling, it has its intended effect. The fight goes straight out of Sylvain, his body going pliant beneath him. His lips part as he settles down, eyes burning into Dimitri, hot and heavy as he exhales his own shaky breath.

“Dimitri, darling.” He strains up against his bindings as Dimitri finishes the knot, attempting to kiss him. The disappointed groan he lets out when Dimitri leans too far away makes Dimitri’s lips twitch into a smile, which makes Sylvain pout, briefly, before he continues his question. “What brought this on?”

If he’s being honest with himself, he doesn't know. Now that he’s gotten him tied down, he’s not sure _why_ he’s done it in the first place, and he feels a bit silly with himself. It was all a whim. Just an embarrassing whim.

“Not that I mind,” Sylvain assures him, obviously sensing how quickly Dimitri’s thoughts are spiralling. He shifts beneath Dimitri until he’s comfortable, stretching languidly, eyes half-lidded. “This is just out of the ordinary for you.”

Sylvain is not a selfish lover. He spends their time together always catering to Dimitri. Even though Dimitri’s aware Sylvain _enjoys_ it, there has never been a time he’s prioritized his own pleasure over Dimitri’s.

Dimitri knows precisely what he wants. He wants to make Sylvain feel as good as Sylvain always makes sure Dimitri does. He wants to be able to take his time, pick away at the walls Sylvain builds without giving Sylvain a chance to leap to take care of Dimitri first.

He _wants_ Sylvain to be selfish. He knows Sylvain won’t let himself be.

Sylvain’s never been one to shy away from chatter. It’s always impressed and baffled Dimitri how he can always talk, no matter what Dimitri does to him. He’s always coherent, even in the heights of his pleasure, where he delves into begging for praise Dimitri is always ready to give. He never loses himself as easily as Dimitri does, never has words escape him in favour of broken whines and babbling.

That’s what Dimitri wants. He wants Sylvain an incoherent mess, wants him to lay back and let Dimitri take care of him for once.

Sylvain’s eyes move over Dimitri, a burning trail that goes from his knees up his body before meeting his gaze. “Is there a reason for this, sweetheart, or do you just like how I look tied down?”

Dimitri considers, head tilting. Strands of his hair fall in his face and he brushes them aside, watching Sylvain’s eyes track the movement.

He doesn’t answer him. Instead, he leans down, sealing his lips over Sylvain, revealing in the soft noise of approval he gives, a low growling noise deep in his throat. Sylvain’s lips part easily under his, chasing him when he starts to pull back, his fingers curling and arms straining against his binds.

Dimitri sits on his haunches, grinning at the sight of Sylvain wanting to touch him, wanting to kiss him more, but being unable to. He can’t stop the grin, or the soft little laugh that he huffs, watching as Sylvain’s eyes fill with affection. His gaze is a sharp contrast to the pout he forces on kiss-swollen lips. Dimitri knows that pout well enough. He’s been victim to its whims before.

Not tonight, he decides, as he lifts a hand. He brushes his knuckles down along Sylvain’s jaw, pulling away when Sylvain starts to tilt his head, his intent to kiss at his hand clear. His lips part, but whatever he wished to say is lost when Dimitri kisses him again, slower, tamer than before.

He’ll never grow tired of it; kissing Sylvain is one of his favourite things to do. His clever tongue has always proved useful in more ways than just speaking silvered, flowered words.

And then, Dimitri draws back once more. Before he gets the chance to speak, Sylvain’s silenced with a palm pressed over his mouth.

Sylvain’s eyes are curious, hungry, his desire clear in burning amber. His lips move against his palm, mouthing words that would no doubt make Dimitri’s ears burn red if he could hear them.

“Quiet.” Dimitri pauses, tacks on a hesitant, “Please.”

He pulls his hand back. Despite how Sylvain smiles at Dimitri’s _please_ , he stays quiet, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. He doesn’t move, not even when Dimitri does. Sylvain keeps his eyes on him, always, _always_ desperate to be good.

Dimitri’s got a plan forming as he goes, but he knows just how much praise means to Sylvain. He brushes a gentle kiss against his forehead, another to the tip of his nose, and then a chaste kiss to his lips before he moves his lips to his love’s ears.

“You’re doing so well, my love,” he murmurs, delighting in the full-body shiver that goes through Sylvain. “You’ll be good for me tonight, won’t you?”

Sylvain nods, keeping his promise of staying quiet. Dimitri thanks him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, before he settles back, sitting across his thighs.

There’s so much he _could_ do, with Sylvain bound and pliant beneath him. Dimitri’s certain he could ask him for anything, and Sylvain would give everything.

Dimitri starts with his neck. He marks a path with teeth and tongue, his fingers smoothing along the trembling muscles of his stomach. He traces along freckles with the tip of his tongue, biting into his collarbone just to hear Sylvain gasp, feel him tense before his body relaxes with an exhale.

He takes his time, only needing to lightly reprimand Sylvain once, when he gets to the hem of his trousers and his hips cant up, obviously trying to direct Dimitri towards where his cock strains within its confines.

Instead, he bites at the hard jut of his hip bone, fingers moving to undo laces without giving Sylvain any friction to rub against. Sylvain is already starting to lose himself above Dimitri, teeth digging in harshly to his bottom lip, trying to muffle noises. He hasn’t spoken yet, which is more than he expected.

“Good,” Dimitri tells him, breathes the praise into the thin skin just below his navel. “You’re being so good.”

Sylvain lets out a whine, cutting off whatever word he was going to say with an audible swallow. Dimitri rewards him by tugging his pants and underclothes down in one motion, following the path with his lips to the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.

“ _Fu—mmn._ ” Sylvain tilts his head back, biting down on his lip again to quiet himself.

Dimitri smiles, pressing it into his skin as his fingers trail lightly through the soft hair on his thighs. Dimitri gives him a moment to collect himself, waits until his trembling has subsided before he presses a kiss to the head of his cock. Sylvain’s hips move, and Dimitri splays a hand down across them to keep him against the bed. He looks up, meeting Sylvain’s heavy-lidded stare, delighting in the way he looks. His face is flushed, a light sheen of sweat dampening his hair to his forehead. His lip looks even more abused than it had earlier, and Dimitri sits up just to brush his thumb across it.

Sylvain closes his eyes, kissing the pad of his thumb. Before he can get too ahead of himself, Dimitri settles back.

The moan he gets when he takes Sylvain in his mouth is worth him breaking an order.

_This_ , of all things tonight, is what he knows well. He knows just how to handle Sylvain as he sinks down, nose brushing against well-groomed curls as he forces his throat to relax around his cock. Praise and pleas fall from Sylvain’s lips as Dimitri starts to bob his head, but he pays it no mind, focused solely on giving Sylvain what he’s too selfless to ask for.

When Dimitri chances a glance up, he’s awed once more by Sylvain’s beauty. His blush spreads down his chest in red splotches, hands curled into tight fists in the sash, the blue stunning against his flushed skin. Dimitri has the idle thought that if they were reversed, he would’ve broken the headboard by now, but Sylvain’s straining against it, red hair staining the pillow when he throws his head back as Dimitri swallows around him.

_Beautiful_ , he thinks, as Sylvain whimpers a mix of curses and pleas. _Beautiful._

Sylvain’s words turn to outright begging as he gets close, more garbled sounds than anything else, half-aborted starts to Dimitri’s name as his hips fight against his hold. It’s only when _close, close, close_ spills out of Sylvain’s lips that Dimitri pulls his mouth off of him with a wet, lewd noise. Sylvain curses, cock spit-slick and still hard as he falls back against the bed.

Dimitri thinks he likes having him tied down.

He smears light kisses back up Sylvain’s body, back to his mouth. Sylvain’s open and receptive, letting Dimitri lick into his mouth. While Sylvain’s occupied, Dimitri sneaks a hand out, finding the bottle of oil that had been cast aside on the bed when they first stripped.

When they part, a thin, gossamer strand of saliva connects them, breaking when Dimitri draws back. Sylvain’s heavy stare goes straight to his hands where the bottle is, lips parting on a soft moan at the sight.

“You’re doing so well,” Dimitri murmurs. “It’ll be worth your patience, I promise.”

Sylvain’s lips part, but Dimitri quickly presses his hand over his mouth again to keep him silent. Sylvain presses a kiss to his palm, settling back down without needing the reminder to be quiet. Dimitri peppers another kiss to the tip of his nose before moving off of his lap.

The moan he lets out when Dimitri slips his underclothes off is worth it—and the ragged _fuck_ that he gets when his oiled fingers reach for his own hole is definitely worth it.

As much as he would like to believe otherwise, Dimitri himself is not immune to praise. He preens under Sylvain’s wonderfully filthy words as he opens himself up.

He doesn’t take his time with it, doesn’t tease himself like Sylvain normally does. He’s efficient, wanting Sylvain inside him almost as much as Sylvain seems to want to _be_ inside him. He fucked himself on his fingers until he was soft and loose, Sylvain’s breathless mantra urging him on. _Fuck, darling, Dimitri, sweetheart, look so good, gonna feel so good—_

His coherency is lost as soon as Dimitri shifts up on his knees, coating his hand in oil before spreading it down Sylvain’s cock. He settles the head of Sylvain’s cock against his hole, waiting despite how hard his own cock aches. Sylvain digs his teeth into his lip, cutting off the rambling _pleasepleaseplease_ that’s been falling from his lips. As soon as he does, Dimitri rewards him by sinking down, groaning in tandem with the muffled shout Sylvain gives.

The stretch of Sylvain’s cock a low-burn that sparks pleasure down his spine as Dimitri settles down, flush against Sylvain’s hips, taking a few steadying breaths to ease himself back from the edge.

“‘m not gonna last long at all,” Sylvain says, voice hoarse, body tense.

Dimitri doesn’t think he’s going to either—but he clenches down around Sylvain just to watch his eyes roll back, just to kiss his slack jawed mouth.

“Wait for me,” Dimitri orders, moving back up on his knees, starting to ride him.

To his credit, Sylvain does his best. That selfless part of him holding back as his words turn to moans and whimpers, mewled syllables that he can’t control. Dimitri almost drowns them out with his own gasped groans, his hand steadying himself on Sylvain’s chest and squeezing while the other wraps around his cock.

It takes only a few thrusts, a few angled adjustments, until Sylvain is fucking up into that spot that makes Dimitri’s thoughts melt, lips parting in a silent shout as he shudders, finally starting to stroke himself in time with his movements.

“Fuck, Dimitri, I’m close, please, _please_ —“

Dimitri nods, incapable of forming the proper words at first, lost between the sensation of Sylvain’s cock filling him and his fist tight around himself. “Good—,” he manages, voice hoarse. “Good, you’ve been good—go ahead. Come for me, love.”

That’s all it takes for Sylvain to come with a broken moan, his body tensing and trembling through release as his hips move in jerky bursts. He spills within Dimitri and the feel of it sends Dimitri over the edge, his own release falling in thick spurts across his fist and Sylvain’s chest as milks himself through it.

He collapses against Sylvain’s chest, mouthing at his neck as the aftershocks send shivers up his spine. Sylvain brushes his nose against Dimitri’s hair, and it’s only at the lack of warm hands soothing over his body that he remembers—

“Oh!”

He moves, far too quickly considering Sylvain’s softening cock is still in him. Sylvain makes a soft noise as he slips out, smiling at the frantic way Dimitri unties his hands. His wrists have red marks against them, but nothing too dire, and he tells Dimitri as such.

“That was _incredibly_ hot,” Sylvain tells him, snatching his wrists out of Dimitri’s grasp to pepper light kisses against his face. “I unfortunately think my legs no longer work, so you’re going to have to clean me up.”

Dimitri huffs, the pout on his lips quickly changing as Sylvain kisses him.

“I’ll get a bath running,” Dimitri tells him, climbing from the bed. His own knees are only a little wobbly, but he finds his footing easily enough.

“I’ll be here,” Sylvain assures him, stretching like a lazy cat against the bedding, “thinking of other ways you can tie me up next time.”

Dimitri feels a wave of embarrassment burn down his face and neck, and based on the way Sylvain laughs before settling back against the pillows, the blush is burning the back of his ears.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the main part of this fic on phone memos while working overnights at work I have nothing else to say lmao


End file.
